Life Was Tough, Growing Up
by AcesOfSpade
Summary: Steve Rogers never had a good childhood. He was bullied, he had trust issues, and that's only the top of the barrel. After Steve became Captain America and wound up 70 years in the future, his past began catching up to him, to the bitter end. (tw: suicide; songfic- Start Again- Ryan Dolan)


_I guess life was tough, growing up. I didn't even know if I could make it or not, 'cause every day is harder on your own, and when they look at me, it's clear to see that they don't want to be the ones to hang around me. So now I guess I'll go it on my own._

Steve Rogers hadn't had the greatest childhood. He was the kid that was constantly sick or injured, and he was stick-thin at that. Everyone liked to tease him and make fun of him. One of their favourite 'nicknames' for him was 'Thermometer', because he was skinny and always sick. Clever, right? Well Steve hated it. He hated being treated like dirt just because he was born with basically no immune system. It wasn't his fault his parents' gene turned into him.

He had one friend. His name was James, but you'd better call him Bucky. He doesn't like being called James much. Steve enjoyed Bucky's company, but he was secretly doubting their friendship the entire time they were friends. What if Bucky was just taking pity on him? What if he was just his friend to prove a point to someone? Because of all of the bullies around him, Steve had trust issues. People had befriended him before, if only to get close to him so they could hurt him farther. Why would Bucky be any different?

 _Life was hard and I got down, but I got up and carried on. Time passed so slow. The life I lived was all in vain, a pointless show upon this game. Time was so cold._

Steve was never at ease, never truly happy, even around his mother, Sarah, who was the sweetest person he had ever encountered. He was beat up almost every other day, and Bucky had to fish him out of alleyways and trashcans every time. He felt worthless, and with due cause. He was only ever given respect by his mother. Bucky seemingly respected him, but Steve still didn't trust him.

He knew. He knew everything he had ever accomplished was in vain. He knew that no matter what he had done, no matter what he was proud of doing, others were going to be rude, mock him, anything to see him cry. That's way he tried to join the War effort. He wanted to do something good with his life, something other people would be proud of him for.

It wasn't his fault he was turned away. It was those blasted genes from his parents. He kept telling the recruitment officers he was fine, he would fight, but each and every one of them, like all of his schoolmates, believed him too fragile to do anything.

He kept trying, though. He kept trying to apply. It took quite a few times, but he'd finally met Dr. Erskine. Erskine offered him the opportunity to fight in the War, and an opportunity to be part of a groundbreaking, revolutionary experiment. It would make him less fragile, less prone to almost dying on a daily basis. Steve had accepted in a heartbeat; he wanted to be less fragile, he wanted to fight.

He did get to fight, but not for very long. He saved Bucky, he'd seemingly stopped the Red Skull, he lost Bucky, and the plane he was on had crashed into the Arctic.

He didn't know how long he'd been under the ice. It just felt like a long nap. Time passed coldly, slowly, almost not at all.

 _'Cause I can live a lifetime living these lies, I can laugh and act okay. I can show a smile and say I'm happy, but there has gotta be a better way._

The Avengers seemed like nice people. Bruce seemed the nicest and most accepting of the group, Clint was pretty okay, and Tony reminded him of his old schoolmates, the ones who would tease him.

Still, he didn't feel he could trust them. He hid all of this under fake laughter and plastic smiles, keep reassuring them he was okay. He was pretty sure only Natasha had caught on, because somehow, Natasha knew everything. If she did know anything, she wasn't speaking up.

 _I wanna live, I wanna love, don't wanna care about anything, 'cause I can spend a lifetime living this life, or start again._

Steve wanted to move past everything that transpired before the plane crash. Wanted to ignore the 20s and 30s, wanted to ignore school and schoolmates and _Bucky_. Ignoring Bucky was thrown out the window when he resurfaced as the Winter Soldier.

When the Winter Soldier disappeared again, Steve returned to ignoring Bucky while Sam and Natasha sought out Bucky.

He wanted to move past everything and find love, but he knew love was out of the picture. If he couldn't trust those around him, how would he trust a partner? How would he trust someone with his fragile heart? No matter who he found, there would never be trust, a rope that kept the bond together.

 _I'm tongue tied, feels like I'm losing hold on this lifeline, but I don't wanna be the one to let go._

Steve felt more and more distant towards life after he saw the dead body of Pietro Maximoff. It reminded him how fragile life was, and how easily it could be taken away from someone. It reminded him of how fragile he used to be, reminded him of darker times when death was constantly at his heels.

The idea of dying didn't scare Steve, the exact opposite. Death intrigued the soldier, left questions in his head. What happens after death? Could you be given a new life? He wished he knew, but he couldn't speak with the dead. There may be people out there that could, but he wouldn't seek them out.

 _Life was hard and I got down but I got up and carried on. Time passed so slow The life I lived was all in vain, a worthless show upon this game. Time was so cold._

The nightmares hadn't gone away, not since his first night after he was defrosted. The same horrible nightmares about the ice, about his fate in the ice changing. He always woke up in a, quite ironically, cold sweat, clutching at his sheets. No one had noticed, no one had come to check on him whenever he awoke suddenly. Or maybe they did know, and they didn't honestly care.

Either way, the morning after the nightmare, he would feel so, so cold, and tme felt like it passed slowly. A minute felt like ten, an hour felt like 12. All because of those damn nightmares.

 _'Cause I can live a lifetime living these lies, I can laugh and act okay. I can show a smile and say I'm happy, but there has gotta be a better way._

He got pretty far, faking smiles. No one was able to see through them; Steve had been faking smiles since before the other Avengers were born. Well, except possibly Natasha, but her past was shady. She did, however, show mannerisms one could only pick up in the 20s, 30s, and 40s, which was why Steve questioned her date of birth being in the 80s.

Fake laughs were another thing. After a year, they started to sound more and more fake, even when his laughter was genuine. Nobody questioned it, but Steve knew, Steve knew they were judging him, questioning him. It was no huge leap; his laughs sounded forced and fake. Who wouldn't question that coming from a man who was seemingly all there?

 _I wanna live, I wanna love, don't wanna care about anything, 'cause I can live a lifetime living this life or start again._

Life began to sound less and less appealing to Steve. You would think Captain America would want to keep living, keep doing the only thing he enjoyed and loved doing anymore, but the idea of living just stopped appealing to him. He was a man over 70 years out of place in the world. The modern era still eluded him, still confused him. He yearned for the simpler, less technology-driven life he lived in his childhood, but that would come with the schoolmates that hated him, and his distrust of Bucky Barnes. He couldn't handle that again. Just couldn't.

 _'Cause I can live a lifetime living these lies, I can laugh and act okay. I can show a smile and say I'm happy, but there has gotta be a better way. I wanna live, I wanna love, and I don't care about anything, 'cause I can live a lifetime living this life or start again._

There he was. Sitting on the edge of his bed, a small butterfly blade splayed out on his lap. He just stared at the polished silver for what felt like a decade, but was only about a half hour. It wasn't the most intimidating of blades he had wielded, but it was intimidating to him. He knew the purpose of the blade sitting upon his lap, knew what it was for.

As he stared at the blade, memories of his years projected into his mind like an old movie. There was the few years he spent with just his mother, when he was truly happy and carefree. Then came school, and the sicknesses and ailments. Following those were the schoolmates who hated him. He also caught glimpse of the Avengers, but his mind had warped their images from one of those who care, to cold, unfeeling machines.

 _So I won't waste a lifetime living this life, I'll start again._

The flashbacks ended. Steve finally worked up the nerve to grab the blade by the black-taped handle. He spun it in his fingers a few times, realizing just how small and light it was. Something so small and light held so much power, he realized.

Almost as if it was working on its own accord, the blade came up to Steve's eye level, letting him view the blade before it dove down, slicing the clean, pale flesh of his inner wrist. He bit his lip to avoid crying out, and sliced a few more times for good measure, hoping to hit a larger artery.

He was found the next morning by Wanda, who had been sent to bring him down for a meeting, as he was not answering his phone.

He had looked peaceful, almost, just sitting propped against the headboard of his bed.

Such a small blade, you see, had the power to kill Captain America.


End file.
